Comedy Night on the Enterprise
by Ellipsis the Great
Summary: For a prompt on the kink meme that asked for Comedian!Bones. Rated for potty mouths and potty humor.


_**Comedy Night on the Enterprise  
**_

_A one-shot by Ellipsis the Great_

_**Summary:**__ For a prompt on the kink meme that asked for Comedian!Bones_

_**Rating:**__ T for language and mentions of (copious) sex._

_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own Star Trek in any of its forms. Just the plot._

"Hello, everyone, and welcome to Comedy Night on the _Enterprise_: The Sick Bay. I'll be your comedian for the evening, Dr. Leonard McCoy."

"Hey, Bones, aren't you a doctor, not a comedian?"

Bones arches an eyebrow at his captain, James T. Kirk. "Jim, I'm an aviophobic, anti-social, backwoods sawbones who works as the CMO on a starship with _you_ as my captain and self-proclaimed best friend. If that isn't _someone's_ idea of a cosmic joke, I don't know what is."

A soft chuckle passes through the crowd as Jim sits back in his chair and pouts.

"He's right, though. I'm not a goddamned comedian, and I don't know how I got roped into this." Bones continues, turning his attention to the entire crowd (which is to say, no one in particular). "But you can bet that when I catch wind of where Scotty's hiding, the little Scottish bastard, I'll be introducing him to a hypo with his name on it."

A few more laughs, these met with a completely deadpan look from Bones.

"No, really, I will." He pulls a hypospray out of his pocket and displays it to the crowd so that they can see they messy name ('Scotty') that has been scrawled on the side with a permanent marker. Once people have stopped laughing, he begins talking again.

"When I was a kid," he says, and takes a sip of the bourbon that's on the stool behind him, "I liked listening to old southern comedians. The 'Blue Comedy Tour,' anybody heard of them?" He tips his glass in the direction of the cheers. "Funny bastards, those guys. One of 'em, for those of you who don't know, was a man named Jeff Foxworthy, who made himself famous with his 'You Might Be a Redneck If…' jokes. I figured I'd tip my hat off to them with something of an…homage to those jokes. So here goes."

He clears his throat. "If you've ever woken up with tentacles growing on your penis…you might have slept with Captain James T. Kirk."

Jim lets out an indignant squawk from the front row, but everyone else is laughing.

"If you have an STD that makes you have an allergic reaction to things only .00000001 percent of the human and alien population _combined_ have an allergic reaction to, you might have slept with Captain James T. Kirk." He snorts at some skeptical looking ensigns. "You think I'm making this shit up. I'm not. It's called Kirk Syndrome, and I discovered it, myself; go look it up sometime. The first one is what happens when an Andorian male sleeps with a human who has slept with a Gorzonian."

He pauses, looking thoughtful (or, perhaps, confused). "Has anyone ever wondered who in the hell gave this man The Talk? I see it having gone one of two ways. One," and here he effects a syrupy tone and façade, "well ya see, little Jimmy, when two people are really, really shitfaced…" He trails off as the laughter gets too raucous for him to be heard over, even with the microphone. "Settle down, now, kids. Settle down."

"And two," he finally says once the laughter has died down to a dull roar, "Jim, you know that thing dangling between your legs? It's called a penis. Now you see all those people out there? Women? Men? Aliens? People of indeterminate origin and gender? They all have one thing in common: orifices. Your penis? Goes in _any and every orifice you can find_." He turns and crouches a little so that he looks shorter, making his eyes go as wide as they can and knocking his voice up a few octaves so that he kind of sounds something like a kid. "But Mister, what about safe sex?" Then he returns to how he had been standing and laughs. "Silly, silly Jimmy. Safe sex is for people who actually _give two shits_ about their physical well-being!"

He shakes his head at them. "And come on, now, folks. As much as we love the crazy bastard, there's no way this man gives much thought to his physical well-being. Hell, just about the only thing he gets into more of besides _people_ is _trouble_. The 'T' in James T. Kirk should stand for 'Trouble.' Well, that or 'Trouser Snake.' I haven't decided, yet."

"Alright, alright." He says, which is about all he can say seeing as how people are howling with laughter. They calm down after a few moments, more than one wiping a mirthful tear from their eye.

"Much as he likes the attention, let's move away from the captain, now." He says. "Actually, I'm supposed to be talking about…what the fuck is it? Life on the _Enterprise_? Right. And although the argument can be made that Jim is the most noticeable thing about life on the _Enterprise_, there's other stuff, too. So I'd like to change the subject a little and talk about—surprise, surprise—the sickbay. It's where I work. It's what I know. It's where a bunch of crazy shit goes down."

He turns and drinks a little more of his bourbon. "Most of you kids have been to the sickbay at least once, by now, if only for your annual physical. And if that's the only thing I've seen you for, then count yourself lucky and start being extra fucking careful, because I've seen _ninety-five percent_ of you fuckers for non-annual-physical-related bullshit." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a piece of paper. "So I made a list of all of the 'Thou Shalt Not's I've come up with over the past seven months of our mission."

He unfolds the paper, clears his throat again, and starts reading.

"One. Thou shalt not sleep with Captain James T. Kirk. Ever.

Two. Especially not after shore leave.

Three. No matter how 'harmless' it looks, thou shalt not touch it. No exceptions.

Four. Fruits and vegetables are for eating, and thou shalt not use them as a substitute for your dildo.

Five. Thou shalt not experiment with dangerous chemicals in the engine room. _Scotty_.

Six. Double penetration sounds like a good idea, but it isn't one. Thou shalt not try it.

Seven. Did I mention that thou shalt not sleep with Captain James T. Kirk? Because seriously, you guys, I'm running out of hypos and Starfleet won't let me write 'They slept with the Captain. Enough said.' on my reports, anymore. There isn't enough alcohol onboard for this shit.

Eight. Thou shalt not mix Romulan Ale with Andorian Wine. Not even the replicated shit.

Nine. Thou shalt not smell the pretty flowers. Two words for this one: sex pollen.

Ten. Thou shalt stop trying to impregnate Ensign Jailbait. I promise you that, no matter how many fan-girls tell you otherwise, human males cannot get pregnant, are not meant to get pregnant, and _will not get pregnant_. _Sulu_.

Eleven. Thou shalt not make love to Captain James T. Kirk, or give him a blow job, or let him give you a blow job, or give each other hand jobs, or do the horizontal mambo with him.

Twelve. Thou shalt not make up another euphemism for sex so that you can do it with Captain James T. Kirk. _Gaila._

Thirteen. Thou shalt not try to drink Chekov and Scotty under the table. You cannot do it. Vodka actually _was_ invented in Russia, and I have _personally seen_ Scotty down an entire mug of Romulan Ale and then build a working engine. _From scratch_. Using only a screwdriver, chewing gum, and a dirty gym sock. _You cannot outdrink a Russian or a Scot_.

Fourteen. Thou shalt not give that pointy-eared, green-blooded hobgoblin chocolate. Under any circumstances. I don't care how curious you are, I couldn't sit down for an_ entire week_.

And finally, Number Fifteen. Thou shalt not believe your superior officer when he or she tells you that this is a 'completely safe and routine mission.' There is no such thing as a 'completely safe and routine mission.' End of red shirt—I mean, story."

He folds up the piece of paper, giving little bows as people whoop and cheer. "And that's all we've got time for tonight, kids. And if you only take two things from this show, let them be these little pearls of wisdom: Space is disease and danger wrapped in darkness and silence. And _don't fucking sleep with Captain James T. Kirk_."

"God_dammit_, Bones!"

Bones merely smirks. "Join us next week for Comedy Night on the _Enterprise_: Engineering with Scotty and Keenser. Thank you, and goodnight."

The End.

_A/N: I hope that everyone enjoyed it! For this prompt at the Star Trek Kink Meme on Live Journal: http(colonbackslashbackslash)community(dot)livejournal(dot)com/st_xi_kink_?thread=2329438#t2329438._


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